


Rare

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:32:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Groundskeeper Arthur, spoilt rich kid Alfred, and a hot summer day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rare

Someday, Arthur Kirkland likes to think, his children's children's children's children, wee ones he'll never meet—someday they'll grow up and say to their own children, "We Kirklands have cared for this land for generations. Your great-great-great-granddad put this very tree we're stood under into the ground when it was only a seed." And each new generation, Arthur likes to think, will add another "great" when they tell the story to the next.

The Kirklands haven't always been gardeners and groundskeepers; Arthur, in fact, is the first. And this land hasn't always been owned by Americans—the Joneses are the first at that. When Arthur leaves them out of his imaginings of the future, it's not meant as a slight against them; it's only that those visions are something between him and the land, private-like. Arthur likes the Joneses well enough, though he rarely sees the young master anymore since he got packed off to boarding school. He's due back for summer holiday today, though, young Alfred is.

It's hot today, as if the atmosphere itself knows Alfred is on the way. Arthur's been working since morning, he's streaked with sweat and dirt and little clinging bits of grass, and he's had to take off his shirt. This is how the young master finds him. Alfred comes to Arthur in his school uniform, even though he's been back for an hour or so already, certainly long enough to change clothes. He hasn't, though. He's come like this. Ice shifts through liquid and rubs up against the inside of the glass in one hand as he raises it to his lips. He offers out the bottle of still water in his other, with naught but a smile when Arthur turns.

Arthur wipes his brow with the back of his wrist and accepts with wordless thanks, pulling the bottle from Alfred's hand without brushing their fingers together. He tips back to take deep swallows of water, letting it spill out around the mouth of the bottle, round his own mouth, tiny rivulets, thicker than sweat, sliding down his chin, his throat, adam's apple bobbing rhythmically with his swallows, spilt water pooling with the sweat in the hollow of throat; and sliding down more.

"And what have you been up to at that fancy school of yours?"

The words are easy, the cant of Alfred's body languid. "Fucking for dosh."

"Well, you're a very pretty boy," Arthur says. "Probably do quite well for yourself. Hope you're charging what you're worth," he adds. Smiles; takes another deep pull on the water.

Alfred's lashes flutter in something that isn't a full blink, more like a flicker. Then he tells Arthur, with quiet confidence, the price to pleasure him. "That's what it costs to suck my cock."

"Actually, lad," Arthur says, tossing aside the now empty bottle, "I was thinking it would be you pleasuring me." Quiet, almost genteel, he reaches out and smudges the fat drop of lemon squash that Alfred has let collect at the corner of his mouth with studied casualness, leaving Alfred's skin smeared with sweetened lemon, with dirt and sweat.

Alfred looks at Arthur. Arthur's hand by his own side now; imprinted on Alfred's face.

And Alfred smiles.


End file.
